A sky as bruised as summer thighs oozes over me,
oak leaves tickling one another in the warm breeze.
The porch net swings back and forth, inviting
insects and then tossing them into the heat.

 

The inflatable pool swells against sticky, thick air.
My hair, knotted behind my neck, presses to my skin
like prickly weaves of rose stems on an iron trellis.

 

Water sloshing, I sink further; my ears gulp

and I listen to the crooning of cicadas hush to a murmur,
soft as the smell of summer.